


With A Little Help From My Friends

by the_random_writer



Series: Trek Tales [6]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Advice, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Family Loss, Flirting, Friendship, Gen, Investigations, Regret, Relationship Advice, Sarcasm, Serious Injuries, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: When someone dies in an accident in Engineering, the evidence indicates Lieutenant McDonald is to blame. McCoy doesn't know if she's innocent or guilty, but he knows she needs his support to get through it.Refers to and builds on all previous entries in the series, so can't really be read standalone.





	With A Little Help From My Friends

It took him almost forty minutes of searching, but he eventually found her.

She was tucked away in one of the awkward, rarely-used storage spaces around the joint of the primary and connecting hulls—the kind of space only someone from Engineering would even know was there, much less actively seek out.

Someone from Engineering, _or_ a Chief Medical Officer on a mission, guided by a schematic map on his PADD.

He almost didn't find her, had scanned the space and was turning to leave when he heard the sniff. A feminine sniff, so he knew it had to be her. And given the day's horrendous events, it was hardly surprising she'd gone into hiding, and found somewhere quiet to cry.

Just over eight hours before, one of the primary coolant control flow modules in Engineering had overloaded during a surge, frying every circuit on the same loop, and electrocuting two of the crew. Ensign Aldona Harrington had survived, but Specialist Daniel Luoma was dead. And even Harrington was in a bad way, with nerve, tissue and organ damage beyond even Leonard's ability to fix. He and Geoff had stabilized her and patched her up as well as they could, then transferred her to a stasis chamber, pending the ship's return to the nearest base.

Unfortunately, no amount of medical care could now help Specialist Luoma. He'd been using the module when it blew, had borne the full brunt of the surge, so had more than likely been dead and gone before his body had even hit the ground.

According to the maintenance logs, the module in question had last been serviced by Lieutenant McDonald, so naturally, the blame for the incident (if a word as strong as blame could be used) had fallen squarely on her.

As per Starfleet regulations, Scotty had immediately suspended her from active duty, pending the outcome of an official investigation, which Mister Spock had volunteered to conduct. She was also supposed to be confined to quarters, but given her current location, Leonard could only assume that someone had forgotten to enforce that rule.

He ducked under a jutting bulkhead, stepped into an even smaller adjacent space, and there she was, sitting on a low bench in the corner with her legs crossed underneath her and her hands loosely clasped in her lap. Her normally spotless tunic was creased, her face was blotchy and streaked with tears, her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

The sight made his stomach drop. But he knew her well enough by now to know she wouldn't want his pity—with this woman, even in situations as tragic and stressful as this, humour was always the best approach.

He sighed, leaned sideways against the wall, crossed his arms and shook his head. "I'd love to tell you that you look really good when you cry, but I'd be lying out of my Georgian ass."

She jerked her head up, startled at being discovered, then sniffed and gave him the wanest of smiles. "Anyone ever told you, your bedside manner's totally crap?" she said, as always, giving just as good and sharp as she got.

"Couple of people might've mentioned it, yeah," he said. "Would you believe the Captain actually called me 'sensitive' once?" Her snort told him, no, she didn't. "But you criticizing me for my lack of manners is like me criticizing you for drinking too much."

"Just because I'm a screaming hypocrite doesn't mean my complaint isn't valid."

"Suppose there's some truth in that."

He pushed away from his leaning position, waved for her to make room on the bench, waited for her to shuffle over, then dropped into the empty space. As he sat, he noticed the ends of her sleeves were damp, no doubt from wiping away her tears.

"How's Aldona?" she quietly asked, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on her hands.

"Alive, which is the most important thing. But other than that, as good as she's gonna get for now. Her injuries are repairable, just not with the equipment we've got on the ship."

"Did you put her in stasis?"

Leonard nodded. "The Captain's been on the horn to Yorktown, trying to arrange an emergency visit back to base." To transfer Harrington into the care of Yorktown's medical team, but also to transfer Luoma's body for eventual repatriation back to Earth.

"But Daniel's dead."

"I'm afraid so, yeah."

"And I probably killed him."

"We don't know that yet. Don't beat yourself up for something that might not be your fault."

"But I was the one who last serviced the module," Catherine angrily pointed out. "If it's not my fault, whose fault could it bloody well be?"

"Might not be anyone's fault. Might just be one of those situations where the shit's hit the fan, and there's no obvious, avoidable cause."

Her anger deflated. "I guess so, yeah."

"Happens all the time when you're a doctor," he added, thinking back on all of the patients he'd lost, some of those losses harder and more painful to deal with than others. "Sometimes, when people get hurt, you do everything you can to save them, but they die anyway. Doesn't mean their death's the doctor's fault. Just means life's a goddamn bitch."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"Medicine's all about people, and people are unpredictable," she said. "But engineering's all about machines, and machines only do what they're told. If that module failed, it's because something was wrong with it, and if something was wrong with it, and I didn't notice, it means I didn't do my job."

Leonard had no answer for that. "Let's just wait and see what Spock digs up," he said, trying to provide what little comfort he could. "Don't tell him I said this, but there's no other person on this ship I'd trust to investigate what happened as much as him. If there's anything to be found, he'll find it. Trust me."

Catherine smiled. "You just said something nice about Mister Spock. I can go to my grave a happy woman." Her smile turned into a wince. "Sorry, that was really inappropriate. I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," he interjected. "I know what you meant."

Silence for a few moments, then, "What if there isn't?" she asked. "Something to be found, I mean? What if Spock's investigation proves what everyone already wants to believe? That it _was_ incompetence or negligence on my part, and I'm responsible for Luoma's death?"

"I honestly don't know," he said. And he wasn't saying that just to be nice—he truly had no idea what the disciplinary process was for such a serious matter. Jim handled the low-level stuff at the monthly Captain's Mast meeting, but causing the death of a fellow crewmember might fall back to Commodore Paris at Yorktown instead. If Catherine _was_ to blame for Luoma's death, however the legal process unfolded, her Starfleet career would be well and truly dead in the water, and if Paris decided her conduct warranted a Court Martial, she'd probably face some jail time as well. Or, at least, what passed for jail time now.

She frowned and heaved a despondent sigh. "Leonard, can I ask a really rude question?"

"Since when do you need my consent to be rude?"

"Okay, not rude so much as a wee bit intrusive."

"Shoot."

"You know me as well as anyone else on this ship," she said. "Do _you_ think I was negligent with my checks?"

Lordy, talk about being put on the spot?

But it wasn't as if she hadn't warned him, and if there was one lesson in manners his mama had taught him, it was that a friend who asked an honest question deserved an equally honest reply.

"Catherine," he started, enjoying the feeling of saying her name—he'd always called her 'McDonald' before—"in the time you've been assigned to this ship, you've earned three separate rounds of administrative suspension. All absolutely deserved. Your language would make a Tellarite blush, you're not even _vaguely_ familiar with the meaning of the world 'subtle', and you don't always seem to grasp the concept of the Chain of Command. There are days when you can out-stubborn me, Spock and Nyota combined, and Scotty swears your borderline insubordination's the reason he's losing his hair."

Not that he really believed the Scotsman's complaints—the Chief Engineer loved a good whinge, and the fact he'd made McDonald his Third told Leonard all he needed to know.

"Saying that, it's never _once_ occurred to me that you're anything other than a totally competent and capable member of this crew. The Captain and Scotty both put up with a lot of crap, especially when it's intended for fun, but if there's one thing I know they'll _never_ put up with, it's lazy assholes who either can't or won't do their job. If you were the kind of person who performs a maintenance task so poorly it ends up causing somebody's death, you'd never have made it onto this ship. You'd probably be on Jupiter station, recycling old warp core components or decommissioning garbage scows."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she turned to finally meet his gaze. "I appreciate that, Leonard," she said. "Thank you. It means a lot."

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"I know that. But it's also nice to know there's at least one person on this ship who's not quite ready to lock me up and throw away the key."

He didn't like the sound of that. "Folks giving you trouble about what happened?" he asked, trying to decide who he would speak to first if her answer was 'yes'. Daniel Luoma's death was appalling, but due process still applied, and due process said she was innocent until proven guilty, and entitled to an unbiased trial.

"Nothing explicit," she said. "Just a lot of cold shoulders and frosty glares."

"Anyone in particular?"

She sighed and settled her gaze on her hands again. "I always thought Janice and I were friends, but when I commed her tonight to ask if she would have dinner with me, she could barely look me in the eye. It was _horrible_. By the end of the call, I wanted to crawl under a rock and die."

That didn't sound like the Janice he knew. The woman was tough—she had to be to keep Jim in line—but also scrupulously fair. In his (admittedly limited) experience, she wasn't the sort to judge a person until she knew they deserved to be judged.

"Maybe she and Luoma were close," Leonard offered, struggling to think of another reason why Janice would snub an old friend.

"I wondered that, yeah. Just kinda hurtful to think she's jumped straight to assuming I'm guilty without even bothering to ask me what happened first."

"What _did_ happen?" he asked. "With the module service, I mean? Do you remember how it all went?"

"More or less, yeah. Was three days ago, so I obviously don't remember every, single moment, but I don't recall anything about the process being out of place." She shrugged slightly. "A module check's a module check. You have to be trained, but once you know how, there's not a lot to it. One of the first maintenance tasks I learned. I've done so many, I think I could do them in my sleep."

And there was the rub.

"You might not want to say that anyone else," Leonard warned, thinking of the callous conclusions to which some of the crew's moral absolutists would jump. "I get what you're saying, and I feel the same way about some repetitive medical tasks, hell, don't get me _started_ on how monotonous the crew vaccination cycles are, but to some folks, it might sound as if you've switched off."

She shook her head. "I _never_ switch off, even with the simplest of tasks. For Christ's sake, Leonard, I'm the Third Engineer. If _I_ switch off, and I fuck something up, the ship blows up, or somebody dies. I'm not the kind of person who would ever half-ass a maintenance job, no matter how boring or simple it is."

"I believe you," he said, then snorted slightly, remembering how and why she'd earned her trio of disciplinary meetings with Jim. "I mean, even when you're breaking the regs, you do it in the best _possible_ way."

As he'd hoped, that brought him the smallest of grins.

"Nice to be able to finally talk to someone," she said. "Was starting to feel like Typhoid Mary."

"As long as it's only Typhoid Mary you feel like, and not Lizzie Borden, you're fine."

"Oh, c'mon, now. Who doesn't love a good axe?"

"Can't believe you actually got that reference," he muttered.

"What, you think you're the only person on the ship who's familiar with Pre-Warp Terran true-crime stories?"

"In my defense, I have an excellent professional reason to know who Typhoid Mary was."

"Aye, but what about Lizzie Borden?"

Fortunately, he had an excellent professional reason to know who Borden was as well. "Took a couple of summer courses at the U-Mass campus in Fall River back when I was in medical school," he said. "Used to drink at a place called Borden's Bar." He grinned, remembering some of the bar's more colourful clients. "They served a beer called Forty Whacks."

"Subtle."

"Had an ABV of fourteen percent. They only sold it in quarter-litre measures, was the liquid equivalent of being kicked in the balls. You'd love it."

"Next time we're back on Earth, maybe you could buy me a measure."

"It's a deal."

Talk of the future drove her into a fretful silence again.

"It's gonna be okay," he said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt. "Whatever happens, you'll get through it."

"Even if the investigation finds I'm at fault?"

"Even if the investigation finds you're at fault," he repeated. "I personally don't think it'll come to that, but if it does, I know you have the mental strength to face the music and take whatever's handed down." Even if what was handed down was being deprived of her commission and rank, and potentially her freedom as well.

Her stomach growled—an alarming and indelicate sound.

"Jesus, was that _you_?" he asked, pretending to shrink away in disgust.

"I haven't eaten since breakfast," she said. "After what happened with Janice, I couldn't really think about food."

He rose from the bench and turned to hold out a hand. "Enough of this sitting in the dark and crying. Let's go get you something to eat."

 

 

The following morning, he had breakfast with Jim, but for a change, in the Captain's office instead of in the General Mess. Leonard was glad for the privacy the office afforded—it gave him the chance to ask some questions he wouldn't otherwise have been willing to ask.

"Any update from Spock?" he said.

Jim cocked a brow. "I assume you mean about the incident in Engineering?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing so far. But he said it would take him a couple of days to fully examine what's left of the module, so it could be the end of the week before he has anything worth reporting."

Leonard swirled the coffee in his cup. "What'll you do when you have the results?"

"A crewmember died, so I'll have to convene a formal review. Have Spock present his findings, draw a conclusion based on the facts, take whatever action needs to be taken from there."

"Gonna take a wild guess from how pensive you've been this morning that you've been giving a lot of thought to what that action might have to be."

"You could say that, yeah," Jim murmured. "Never had to deal with charges of criminal negligence before."

"Kinda hoping it won't come to that."

"You and me both."

"You written your letter to Luoma's folks?"

Jim shook his head. "Not yet, no. Started it after my shift last night, but everything I came up with felt wrong. Think the accident was still too fresh. I'll take another shot tonight."

"Let me know when you're done, I'll add mine on at the end."

"You don't have to do that, you know."

Leonard shrugged. "But I'm doing it anyway. They just lost a son. The least I can do."

He didn't say it, but he was fairly sure Scotty was working on a letter as well.

"How's Harrington?" Jim asked.

"Stable, which is as good as she's gonna get for now."

"You think she'll make a full recovery? Once we transfer her to Yorktown, I mean."

Leonard gulped the last of his coffee and reached to pour another cup. He waved the carafe in the Captain's direction, but Jim held up a hand to refuse. "Physically, yeah. I mean, she's gonna need a few months in rehab once the nerve regeneration work's finished, learn how to walk and move all over again, but there's no reason why she shouldn't come out at the other end just as fit and strong as before this all happened."

"How long do you think they'll keep her under?"

"The second stage of regen treatment hurts like almighty hell, so probably until that's done." He paused to take a sip of his coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue. "Four to five weeks, six at the most."

"But the longer she's under, the harder it is on her mind," Jim added, not asking a question so much as stating a fact, no doubt recalling his own psychological recovery struggles after the incident on Earth with Khan. For all that Leonard had joked about him barely being dead, those two weeks in a medically-induced coma had taken a serious toll.

"The human mind's a really strange thing. Some people can be under for months and have no psychological complications at all. But a lot of people who've come out of comas report having the problems you had, of not being awake, but somehow still feeling aware, having nightmares and hallucinations, but no sense of self, and no sense of location or time."

"Was the closest thing I can think of to being in hell," Jim said, staring at his plate, his voice quiet but perfectly calm. "Constant nightmares, and somehow, I _knew_ they were nightmares instead of something real, but I couldn't stop them, and I couldn't wake up."

"So, you know what Harrington's gonna go through."

"A little bit, yeah."

"She'll need some counselling to deal with the trauma, especially if she has flashbacks or dissociation issues, but I think she'll eventually be okay. They have an excellent psych team on Yorktown. She couldn't be in better hands."

"She could be in yours."

Leonard rolled his eyes, torn between appreciation and exasperation. Fortunately, the former won. "Just for that, you can have my toast."

"You sure?"

"All yours."

Jim reached over to snag the slice from Leonard's plate. "You think Harrington'll come back to the ship? Once she's recovered, I mean."

"Way too early in the process to tell. But we should be ready for the answer being 'no'. Even if she completely recovers, coming back to where the accident happened might prove to be too distressing for her."

"Scotty swears she's a future Chief of Engineering Corps in the making. Would be a real shame to lose her."

"Especially on top of losing Luoma."

"And potentially McDonald as well."

Leonard's cup froze halfway to his mouth. "You think she's finished?"

He knew it was on the cards, but it was shocking to hear Jim say it out loud.

"If Spock's investigation comes back to say she was at fault for the accident, then yeah, she probably is."

"But we don't know that yet."

"We don't, no," Jim acknowledged. "But we have to be ready for the worst."

"Are you at least hoping for the best?"

"Course I am, Bones. I mean, don't get me wrong, the ship'd be about six _thousand_ percent calmer without McDonald around, but that doesn't mean she's bad at her job, _or_ that I want to get rid of her, _or_ that I want her to go to jail."

"Is that what she's actually facing?"

Jim sighed, wolfed down the last of the toast and pushed his empty plate aside. "I looked it up in the regs last night. Negligence resulting in a crewmember's death's a full Court Martial offence, punishable by loss of commission and rank and a sentence of up to four years. If Spock's investigation reveals McDonald was at fault, Harrington won't be the only person leaving the ship when we get back to base."

"I had dinner with her last night. McDonald, I mean." For obvious reasons, she hadn't been keen on going to the Mess, so they'd eaten in his office instead.

"Figured you might. How's she doing?"

Leonard shrugged. "About as well as you'd expect. Trying to be strong, but scared as hell."

"Understandable. If you think it'll help, tell her whatever happens next, it's gonna be fair. I'm not gonna make an example of her, or publicly hang her out to dry."

"Never imagined for a moment you would," Leonard said. "Lord knows you have your flaws”—now it was Jim who rolled his eyes—"but being a heartless bastard's never been one of 'em."

" _You_ know that, but McDonald might not."

"No, I'm pretty sure she knows it as well." He gestured at Jim with his cup. "If you were a heartless bastard, you'd've kicked her sorry ass off the ship after the thing with the slide." Although, given Leonard's own, central role in the water slide matter, it would have been hard for Jim to eject McDonald without ejecting his CMO as well…

"Maybe so, but my point still stands."

"Can I ask a favour, then, seeing as how you're feeling so fair?"

"Course you can."

"When Spock's finished, and you convene the review, will you give me a call, let me come and sit in? I know it's probably not standard procedure, but I think she could use the moral support."

Especially if the news wasn't good.

"Of course. But you were already gonna be one of the people involved."

"Really?"

"It's because the review relates to an incident where somebody died. The CMO has to be present to state the cause of death for the record."

"I guess that makes sense."

Jim reached for the coffee carafe, changing his mind on a second cup. "You know, you never did tell me how your date worked out."

"What date?"

"The movie night date Nyota told me you were gonna have with McDonald," Jim explained. "You never told me how it all went."

"You never asked."

Jim huffed and rolled his eyes again. "Okay, consider this an official request."

"Ask away, but there's not much to tell."

"That good, huh?"

"Nothing to do with how good or bad it was. We just didn't have it yet. Was supposed to be the night Leslie fell and fucked up his leg. I was on call, so had to duck out ten minutes in to go put Leslie back together."

"Did you reschedule?"

"Yeah, to the day after tomorrow."

Jim grimaced. "Sorry," he said, acknowledging that nobody would be in the mood for a date until Spock's investigation was done.

Leonard shrugged. "Not your fault. Not _anyone's_ fault. Just another one of those 'shit happens' moments."

"Really hope that's what Spock's gonna come back to tell us as well."

"About the accident?"

Jim nodded.

"Yeah, me too," Leonard softly said. "Although, he'll say it much less succinctly than that. It'll take him at least ten goddamn minutes just to get to the goddamn point."

"But when he does, it'll be an _extremely_ logical point."

"When Spock's involved, when is it not?"

 

 

Later that day, when Sickbay was quiet, he beckoned Christine into his office.

"You spoken to Janice Rand today?"

Christine nodded. "She commed me this morning, told me she didn't feel very well, asked me to sign her out of her shift."

"And did you?"

"Of course."

"Without bringing her in for a check?"

"Was a simple request, and Jan's not the type to play sick when she isn't, so I didn't think an exam was needed."

He more than trusted Christine's judgement, but something about the tone of her answers struck him as wrong. "What are you not telling me?" he asked, crossing his arms and giving her his most disparaging narrow-eyed stare.

"Nothing."

He raised a disbelieving brow.

She glared at him and stabbed the button to close the door. "Okay, fine, I'll explain, but you can't share what I tell you with anyone else," she warned. "Not even the Captain. You understand?"

"The fact Janice asked you to sign her out means it's now an official medical matter, so whatever you tell me's automatically covered by patient confidentiality rules. My lips are sealed."

"Janice and Daniel Luoma were dating," she said. "Not for long, but long enough that Jan's _really_ cut up."

"Jesus," he muttered. No wonder Janice had slammed the door in Catherine's face. "She doing okay?"

"As well as can be expected, considering her new boyfriend just died."

"How'd she find out? That Daniel had been killed, I mean?"

"From me, in her quarters, ten minutes after you brought his body in."

"So, you knew they were dating?"

Christine nodded. "Janice told me last month when she came in for her annual exam." She smiled. "She gave me an answer to the 'Are you sexually active?' question I wasn't expecting."

Leonard snorted. "Well, glad someone other than Pavel's been having some fun." His mood turned more sombre again. "And glad Janice got the news in private from a close friend. Finding out you've lost a loved one's painful enough, finding out from a relative stranger in front of a room full of other people's a whole 'nother level of hell."

Her eyes strayed briefly to the small holo of JoJo wedged in at the side of the desk where only the occupant of his chair could see it. He'd never told her, but somehow she knew—that he'd been through that torment himself, and wouldn't wish that kind of pain on a stranger, much less someone as kind and decent as Rand.

"Was all I could think about as soon as I realized who it was on the bio-bed," she said. "I literally dropped what I was doing and ran. Almost flattened Geoff going through the door."

"Thank you," he said.

"For what? Doing my job?"

"Yeah, but also for being such a good friend."

"Jan's been a good friend to me back. I know if our roles were reversed, and I was the one who needed her help, she'd come running to be there for me as well."

"Did you know Catherine McDonald might be the one who takes the fall? For the accident, I mean?"

"I heard that, yeah."

Not wanting to be seen taking or forcing sides, he worded his next question with care. "Isn't McDonald a good friend as well?"

"She is, yeah. It's just…"

"Complicated?" he offered.

She dropped into the other chair. "Complicated, yeah. Let's go with that."

"Can't say I envy your position, being caught between two really good friends."

"I can handle it."

"I know you can. But you don't have to handle it on your own. It gets too much, or causes problems, you know where to find me, okay? And let Janice know, my door's open for her as well."

"She'll be fine. She just needs some time to work through her grief and come to terms with her loss."

"I know she will, but the offer's still there." He reached for his PADD. "I'm gonna sign her out for a while, give her the quiet time she needs."

Her hand shot out to grab his wrist. "Don't do that. I know you mean well, but she told me she just needed today. She doesn't do well with too much spare time on her hands. Think she'd rather have the distraction of work."

That was a feeling he understood. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He dropped the PADD back onto the desk. "Well, you know her much better than me."

"Speaking of knowing people much better than me, how's Catherine holding up?"

"She's okay," he said, deciding it wasn't worth the time to pretend her 'accusation' was wrong. "Finding it hard to deal with the thought she might be responsible for what happened."

"That's understandable."

He leaned down to open a drawer, pulled out a bottle and a pair of elegant crystal glasses.

She held up a refusing hand. "Not while I'm still on duty, thanks."

"Now, you know I only bring out the stuff I keep in the drawer for medicinal reasons." He filled both glasses three-quarters full then slid one to her side of the desk. "And in case you hadn't noticed, our shift ended three minutes ago."

She checked the clock. "So it did." Time restrictions rescinded, she picked up the glass to give the contents a sniff. "Glenlivet?" she guessed.

"Glendulan twelve year triple distilled."

"Very nice. Not your usual muck."

"Says the woman who drinks that Jameson's swill."

"Where'd you get it?" she asked, for once ignoring his usual poke—she'd no doubt find a way to poke him back even better later.

"Was a birthday present from Lieutenant McDonald."

"Hell of a present."

"She didn't _buy_ it for me, if that's what you're thinking. Said it was a present to her from someone at home." A ridiculously expensive present, given how much it cost to ship something all the way out here from Earth.

"But she doesn't drink Scotch."

"She doesn't, no. But this isn't just Scotch," he said. " _This_ is a single malt."

She rolled her eyes and ignored him again. "But she doesn't drink single malts, either. So, she gave it to you."

"And I was obviously delighted to take it off her hands."

"She likes you, you know. In case you hadn't noticed."

He sighed. "Yeah, I'd noticed."

"That a problem?"

"Makes me worry about her vision, sanity and judgement, but other than that, not really, no. She hasn't been very subtle about it, which I know isn't saying much, considering she doesn't seem to know what 'subtle' means, but she's not sending me terrible poems, or leaving bouquets of flowers at my front door."

"Don't think Kate's really the poetry kind."

"Poetry, no. Dirty limericks, maybe."

She paused to take a sip of her drink. "Is the interest mutual?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Have you told her that?"

"Not in so many words, no."

"You should," she said. "Take a page out of Janice's book, go come up with an answer for that 'Are you sexually active' question that'll embarrass me and Geoff so much, we'll start to regret our assignment choices."

"Yes, mother," he tartly said.

"Complain all you want, but you know I'm right."

That was the problem—she usually was.

 

 

Two mornings later, while he was checking on Harrington's stats, the call from the Captain came in.

"Hey, Jim, what's up?" Leonard asked, noting Jim was making the call from his quarters instead of from his seat on the bridge.

"Hey, Bones, just wanted to let you know Spock's investigation is done."

"Already?"

"He said the results were easy to find."

"He knows what happened with the module?"

Jim nodded.

"And?"

"I can't discuss it over the comm. I'm convening the formal review at fourteen hundred today. Deck Four, Meeting Room Five."

Meeting Room Five was large enough for only six people—was that a good or bad sign? Had Spock discovered the accident was indeed Lieutenant McDonald's fault, and Jim was trying to spare her the pain of being formally blamed for Luoma's death in front of more than a handful of people?

"Not many people," he pointed out.

"Six of us, but that's all we need."

The hairs on Leonard's arms stood up as he realized something else about the location. "Should I be worried about the fact that meeting room's just along from the brig? You planning on marching McDonald out of the room and into the nearest cell?"

"I'm not planning anything, Bones. At least, not until after the meeting's all done."

Leonard sighed. "I'll be there."

"See you at fourteen hundred. And don't be late."

 

 

He wasn't late, but when he arrived, the five other people were already present. Three of them were Jim, Scotty and Spock, and Yeoman Wong was probably there to manage the logs—a requirement of a formal review.

Catherine McDonald was sitting very much on her own at the far end of the table, straight-backed, stony-faced, hands clasped tightly together, eyes fixed on some random point on the table surface, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. She looked calm, but Leonard could tell from the set of her mouth that she was barely holding together, and emotions were raging underneath.

She might have caused Luoma's death—the next thirty minutes would tell them for sure—but he would have to be a callous monster not to feel sorry for her.

Leonard took the only remaining seat at the table, with Spock on his left and Catherine on his right. As he sat, he tried to catch her attention to give her a supportive smile, but she pointedly refused to look his way.

Once everyone was seated, Jim said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I've called this meeting to review the circumstances surrounding the death of Engineering Specialist Daniel Luoma on the morning of Stardate 2264-92. As you probably know, the incident in question also inflicted life-threatening injuries on Ensign Aldona Harrington. For reasons I won't go into right now, I don't intend to refer to or query Ensign Harrington's situation during this review. I will use this review _specifically_ to address what happened to Specialist Luoma." He paused to let his words sink in. "Before we begin, does anyone have any objections, questions or concerns?" When nobody answered, he nodded at Wong. "Yeoman, start the transcriber, please."

Wong tapped a command on her PADD. "The transcriber is running, sir."

Jim turned to his Chief Engineer. "Mister Scott, I'll start with you. Would you please describe the circumstances under which Specialist Luoma died?"

Scotty nodded. "Aye, sir. Specialist Luoma was responsible for operating the module which regulates the flow of coolant to the primary plasma injection coils." He paused to clear his throat. "At approximately eleven twenty on the Stardate in question, all modules in Engineering Section 2B, including Specialist Luoma's module, experienced a seventy micro-second, additive surge, caused by the rapid reactivation of another module in Engineering Section 2C, which had previously been taken offline for repairs. Specialist Luoma was in physical contact with the interior of his module when the surge occurred, and was therefore electrocuted."

"Thank you, Mister Scott."

The Captain addressed his First Officer next. "Before I go any further, I believe Mister Spock has some questions for the Chief Engineer?"

"Yes, Captain, I do."

"Please proceed."

Spock moved his attention to his fellow Department Head. "Mister Scott, are power surges such as the one you describe a common event in Engineering?"

"Relatively common, yes. Especially when we're cold-starting a module with a heavy inductive load."

"And power surges are dangerous?"

"Extremely. To both equipment and people."

"Which is why we have controls and procedures in place to reduce not only the probability of a surge occurring, but also to contain the damage when one actually occurs?"

"That's correct. For example, any part of a module a crewmember can touch is fabricated from non-conducting materials, and all modules have built-in surge protection features."

"If modules are fabricated from non-conducting materials, why then was Specialist Luoma able to be electrocuted? Should he not have been insulated from the surge?"

Scotty sighed. "He'd removed a section of the module cover to run a diagnostic test on some of the internal components. When the surge occurred, his hands were in a part of the module not protected by the insulating layer."

"Mister Scott, is it permissible to remove a module cover, either in whole or in part, without isolating the module in question from the ship's main power supply?"

"If you're removing the whole cover, you're supposed to take the module offline. You're allowed to remove the smaller access panels, as long as you're wearing protective gloves."

"Was Specialist Luoma wearing protective gloves at the time of the incident?"

Leonard's stomach lurched—he could tell from Scotty's pinched expression what the answer was going to be.

"No, Mister Spock, he was not."

"He was not in compliance with established Starfleet safety procedures?" Spock half-asked, half-stated.

"He was an engineer," Lieutenant McDonald politely put in from the other end of the table, causing all eyes to swivel towards her. "We respect the rules, and we want to be safe, but we like to touch things."

"Then, you have engaged in the same, non-compliant behaviour?" Spock asked the Lieutenant.

"We all have, Mister Spock," Scotty wearily said, coming to his co-worker's defense. "The Lieutenant is right. Engineers like to get their hands dirty."

"I see," the Vulcan said in a tone that made it abundantly clear he absolutely didn't.

Jim took over from his XO. "Mister Scott, protective gloves and non-conducting materials are only one element of our safety procedures. What about the built-in surge protection features? When the power surge reached the module, why didn't those features kick in?"

"When I examined the module, it appeared the surge protection features had failed."

"Do we have controls in place to ensure the features _don't_ fail?" Jim asked next. "Or, to at least inform us when they do, to allow us to pre-emptive action?"

"Yes, Captain, we do."

"Could you describe those features for us?" Jim smiled and flicked his eyes to McCoy. "In layman's terms, for the benefit of the non-engineers in the room?"

"There's a sensor on the surge regulator array. It's supposed to send out an alert if it detects the array's developed an error. Both the sensor and the array itself are inspected and verified during the monthly maintenance check."

"For the module in question, when was this maintenance check last carried out?"

"Three days before the accident, on Stardate 2264-89."

"And according to the maintenance logs, who was the check carried out by?"

Looking straight at the Captain, Scotty said, "The check was performed by my Third Engineer, Lieutenant J.G. Catherine McDonald."

Jim's next words were to McDonald. "Lieutenant, do you remember performing the maintenance check in question?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"During that check, did you notice any deficiency or defect with either the surge regulator array or the corresponding sensor?"

"No, sir, I did not."

"You're confident you carried out the check correctly, and to all required standards?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Is there anything else you would like to tell us at this time?"

She hesitated, then said, "No, sir, there is not."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Doctor McCoy," Jim said, turning to where Leonard was sitting. "For the record, could you please tell us how and why Specialist Luoma died?"

Leonard nodded and cleared his throat. "In layman's terms, Specialist Luoma was electrocuted. He experienced what we refer to as a macroshock, where the power surge entered his body through his right hand, passed through his heart and lungs, and exited through his left. The cause of death was therefore a combination of acute ventricular fibrillation, catastrophic cell destruction and extensive subdermal burns."

"In your opinion, Doctor, could Specialist Luoma have been saved?"

Trust Jim to ask the difficult questions.

"If a fully-equipped medical team had been in the room when the accident happened, and they'd been able to initiate treatment straight away, _and_ he'd had a textbook response, it's possible he could have been saved."

"But not probable."

"Given the extent and nature of his injuries, no."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Jim's next remarks were to the whole group. "This concludes the portion of the review where we discuss the circumstances leading up to the incident, the nature of the incident, and the outcome of the incident. As you all know, I had tasked Mister Spock with investigating the underlying _cause_ of the incident. In other words, to find out why the module's surge protection features failed. Was the failure due to faulty equipment, improper installation, inadequate maintenance, or a combination of all three?" Jim nodded at Spock. "Mister Spock, please continue from here."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, understanding what is at stake in this investigation, I will get straight to the point," Spock started. "In short, I am confident Lieutenant McDonald is not to blame for the failure of the surge protection features. I have examined the log of the maintenance work she carried out six days ago on the module in question, and the logs of numerous other similar maintenance tasks she has performed over the last six months. Her work, and her maintenance logs, are of extremely high standard. In fact, I would go so far as to describe them as impeccable."

Leonard felt his eyebrows climb. In his experience, when Spock wanted to flatter somebody's work, he usually described it as 'proficient'. If he was feeling particularly enthusiastic, he might opt for 'accomplished' instead. The doctor had never once heard the Vulcan describe _anything_ as impeccable, except, perhaps, McCoy's own tenuous grasp of logic, and even then, in a thoroughly sarcastic way.

Catherine's expression never changed, but he heard her breathing briefly hitch. Outside, she was still flawlessly calm, but inside, she was probably on the verge of tears.

Spock placed an object on the table—a molten, twisted blob of plastic, metal and ceramic that Leonard suspected had once been part of the now-defunct module. "This is the surge protection array from Engineering Module 2A-88-3," the Vulcan said. He pointed to a small bump on the side. "And this is the sensor that was supposed to alert us if the array failed." He paused to look around the table. "The entire component is defective."

That got Scotty's attention. "That's not possible," the Chief Engineer vowed. "If that component was out of order, someone in my crew would've noticed."

"My apologies, Mister Scott. I did not mean the component is defective in the sense that it does not work. I mean the component is defective in the sense that it was improperly fabricated. It functioned, insofar as that word has meaning, but it was not manufactured to Starfleet standards, which, as you can imagine, are extremely high. As constructed, the component was simply incapable of withstanding the type and duration of surge to which, given its purpose and location, it was most likely to be exposed."

"So, what you're saying is, when the power surge reached the module, instead of firing up to contain it, the regulator simply gave out?" Leonard concluded. "Like a dam being washed away by a flood?"

"That is an excellent analogy, Doctor, yes."

"When did we install it?" the Captain asked.

"According to the engineering maintenance logs, this particular component was installed eleven weeks ago, on Stardate 2264-13."

"But it was only three days ago it was finally exposed to a surge?"

"Precisely."

"This is all very interesting, but why do we even _have_ sub-standard components?" Leonard asked. "Did someone at a production facility leave the new guy in charge, or forget to run the QA cycle at the end of the fabrication sequence?"

Spock shook his head. "I suspect the answer is far more troubling than that."

"Barrios & Volkov," McDonald said.

Scotty groaned, rested his elbows on the table and pressed his palms against his eyes. "Fuckers," he muttered. "Stupid, bungling, cheap-arsed fuckers."

"Sorry, what?" the Captain asked, looking and sounding as puzzled as Leonard felt.

"Barrios & Volkov," Spock repeated. "A privately-owned, Terran corporation co-founded in 2206 by Soraya Barrios and Kirill Volkov. It manufactures high-end, technical components for the defence, security and space exploration sectors. For the last three years, it has been one of Starfleet's leading suppliers, both in the number of individual components supplied, and the total value of contracts awarded."

The Captain picked up the melted component. "Did they manufacture this?"

"Yes, Captain, they did."

Jim looked to McDonald. "You already knew where Mister Spock's suspicions were going, Lieutenant. Would you care to tell us how?" he asked. He smiled at her as he spoke, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and his tone made it abundantly clear that staying silent wasn't a choice.

McDonald shifted in her seat, uneasy at being put on the spot, perhaps regretting her latest contribution to the conversation. She looked to Scotty, who gave her a tiny nod, letting her know that, whatever trouble she might be about to cause, she at least had her CO's support.

"A few months ago, I heard a rumour through the engineering grapevine that B&V were falsifying their quality checks, secretly putting what they considered to be low-risk components through a single verification cycle instead of three."

"Why the hell would they do that?" Jim asked.

It was Scotty who answered. "Because they're bleeding money out of their nether regions, especially on R&D. Their new warp core containment system's almost two years overdue. If they don't deliver by the end of the quarter, there's a risk Starfleet'll cancel their contract and give the work to the Dai-Lo yard on Keldar Prime instead."

"So, they're cutting corners wherever they can," Leonard sourly concluded. One of the oldest games in the book—he'd seen it happen numerous times in the medical sector as well.

"Did you know about this?" Jim said to Spock.

"I was not in possession of any material information, Captain, but like the Lieutenant and Mister Scott, I had also heard some… rumours."

"What about Starfleet Command?" Leonard asked. "Do the higher-ups know what's going on? If _we've_ heard rumours, all the way out here in the ass end of the Alpha Quadrant, surely someone back on Earth has as well?"

Jim shrugged and held out his hands. "There's been no official communication from the Admiralty on the issue, so I have to assume the answer is no."

"Nothing from the Engineering Corps, either," Scotty said.

In a calm voice, McDonald said, "You're all assuming Starfleet Command would actually tell us."

A stunned silence fell over the room—even Spock looked taken aback.

"Lieutenant, I _really_ hope you're not suggesting someone back at Starfleet Command is deliberately withholding potentially life-saving information," Jim said, his face set in the darkest expression Leonard had ever seen.

"I'm not suggesting anything, sir," was McDonald's carefully-worded response. "But if you're going to take this up with Starfleet Command, I suggest you start by finding out why Vice-Admiral Chandra resigned."

"Who's that?" Leonard asked.

"She was head of Contracts and Procurement," Scotty explained. "She resigned two months ago. Said she"—he paused to make quotes with his fingers—"wanted to spend more time with her sons."

Something about the way Scotty said it pushed Leonard's defensive buttons. "Don't see why the hell that's suspicious. Nothing wrong with someone wanting to cut back on their working hours so they can spend more time with their kids."

"Aye, except her sons are eighteen and twenty-three," the Chief Engineer explained. "Well past the age of needing mum at home to put them to bed."

McDonald nodded. "Fifty credits says Chandra had some kind of personal interest in keeping the B&V contract going, so helped to cover the problem up. Now, she's getting out ahead of the storm she knows must be coming, leaving someone else to bury the bodies and clean up the mess."

"Lieutenant, with all due respect, I think it would be for the best if you stopped that train of thought right there," the Captain said, once again using his no-nonsense tone. "I know you're a great believer in speaking plainly, but that's an _extremely_ serious allegation to make, especially when you have no proof."

Leonard felt the need to step in. "It might be a very serious allegation, Captain, but a crewmember died because of this problem. In my book, manslaughter's a very serious crime."

Jim dipped his head, conceding the point.

Leonard's blood froze in his veins. "Wait a goddamn minute. Never mind who knew about what and who covered it up, how many of these sub-standard units have we already installed? Are there other modules on the ship at risk of blowing up as well?"

"That's a very good question," Jim said, looking to Spock.

The First Officer picked up his PADD. The holo-screen sprang to life and a table of information appeared.

"According to Engineering records, we have received 278 surge regulator units from the same Barrios & Volkov fabrication line as the unit that failed," Spock said, tapping to sort and filter the data. "Fortunately, it appears only thirty-two of those units have actually been installed, four of them in auxiliary systems."

"I assume this is the first failure we've had?" Leonard asked.

"Might not be," McDonald said, before Scotty or Spock could respond. "We had a similar but much smaller blowout two weeks ago down on Deck Twenty-Three, but in that case, the module itself was actually damaged, so we figured that was the cause."

The Captain had obviously heard enough. "I want all of these new units pulled," he said, holding up the melted block. "In the event we don't have enough replacements from the previous fabrication stock, use the triage approach. If the module the unit's in isn't important, take it offline. If it _is_ important, find a replacement from a non-vital system." He threw the defunct unit to Scotty, who caught it deftly with one hand. "How long will the work take?"

"The standard switch-out procedure for one of these units takes twenty minutes," Scotty said. "We'll need to take some extra precautions, wear full PPE, in case something destabilizes while we're taking the module down. Give it thirty minutes per module instead. Twenty-eight modules in active systems means a minimum of fourteen hours."

"How many people know the switch-out procedure?"

Scotty narrowed his eyes, mentally tallying names. "Me, Keenser, Abdelrahman, Elonat, Ghostkeeper, M'Lenn, Sakamoto."

"Not Elonat," Leonard said. "Not a chance. Not in its current condition." Bad enough they had to risk people—he wasn't risking a developing bud as well.

"So, six people," Jim said.

"Seven," McDonald corrected. "Unless there's a reason I can't go back to work?"

"There isn't, no," the Captain replied. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm putting this review on hold, pending the outcome of the emergency replacement work. I want you to test the units you remove to find out how many were actually capable of containing a power surge to the expected degree. I'll include that testing information when I submit my final summary of this review to Admiral Morrow and Commodore Paris. In the meantime, Mister Spock has established that Lieutenant McDonald was in no way to blame for the module failure _or_ Specialist Luoma's death. She is therefore cleared to return to duty with immediate effect."

McDonald smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Captain."

"And what about Starfleet? Who's going to tell them what we found?" Scotty asked. "They need to know, in case there's similar problems on other ships."

"You go deal with those defective modules," Jim ordered, before his expression darkened again. "Leave Starfleet Command to me."

 

 

Unlike the rest of the crew, Leonard knew _exactly_ when the replacement work was finished.

As luck (if you could call it that) would have it, one of the twenty-eight irregular modules was in the rear wall of his office, and as his office wasn't considered a critical system, that module was one of the last to be upgraded.

McDonald at least contacted him as soon as they knew the room was a risk, and asked him to stay out of the way until the risk could be contained.

Scotty himself turned up two hours later, wearing a full set of PPE, a toolpack, scanner and diagnostic kit in hand. True to his word, the Chief Engineer was finished and done in twenty-six minutes.

On his way out, he paused to show Leonard the old surge regulator unit. "This one's actually even worse than the others. The sensor's working," he said, pointing to a slow-blinking light at one of the corners, "but it's actually picking up its _own_ diagnostic signal. The array could have totally failed, and we'd never have known."

"Well, that's not at _all_ disturbing," Leonard muttered. Bad enough space itself was probably out to get him—now his own office was secretly trying to kill him as well?

"I replaced the array with an older unit from a different production line, so the module's as good as new."

"How the hell can something be as good as new when it's got something older in it?"

"It's perfectly safe, Leonard," Scotty said, giving him the slightest of glares. "It won't blow up on you, if that's what you're worried about."

"Montgomery, since when do I _ever_ worry?"

 

Later that night, once his shift was over, he went in search of Lieutenant McDonald again.

This time, instead of being hidden away in the bowels of the ship, she was actually in her quarters. She was wearing a casual, two-piece outfit that could easily pass for a pair of pajamas, which made him wonder if he'd caught her getting ready for bed. If he had, she obviously didn't mind.

"Come in," she said, smiling as she ushered him through the door.

He cast his eyes around the small room. "You've cleaned," he said, remembering the chaotic clutter he'd all but waded through on his previous visit, after the incident with the slide. Even now, it wasn't really what he'd call tidy, but he supposed it would do. For all that she was a great engineer, neatness didn't seem to be one of her talents.

"Haven't really had much else to do," she told him. "Couldn't keep my mind on a book, so it was either clean up the mess in my quarters, or lie down on my bunk and think."

"And you've never really been much of a thinker."

"When you're an engineer, you're too busy keeping stuff running to think," she said tartly. "We leave all of the cerebral, philosophical stuff to you lazy assholes in blue." She leaned over a desk to pluck a bottle from one of her shelves. "Drink?" she proposed, holding the bottle up.

"Depends. What is it?"

"New Douro port. One of the better vintages. It's very nice."

"The hell'd you get a bottle of New Douro port from?"

She flashed him a cheeky grin. "Won it last week in a bet."

"Do I even wanna know what the bet was about?"

"Given the number of regs I broke in the process, I'm thinking no, you probably don't." She raised her brows and wiggled the bottle at him. "So, you want one or not?"

As a general rule, he didn't drink port, finding most of the stuff too rich for his taste. But a single measure wouldn't kill him. "Pour me one, yeah."

She grabbed a matching pair of aperitif glasses, filled them almost to the brim and carefully handed one to him.

He took a sip—it was just as pleasant as she'd promised—smoother and less tannic than he'd expected.

"Thought I should stop by and see how you're holding up," he said. "Been a real bumpy week, for a lot of us, but especially you. You feel like things are getting back on an even keel?"

She sighed and turned her hand in a no-yes-no motion. "More or less, but it comes and goes. I'm obviously relieved I'm in the clear, but then I remember Daniel Luoma's dead and Aldona Harrington's seriously ill, which makes me feel guilty about feeling relieved."

"That's a normal, healthy, empathetic reaction. Just means you're human. Would be more concerned if you didn't have it."

"Aye, that's what Scotty told me as well." She snorted. "Said it means I'll never make a good psychopath or serial killer."

"Anyone give you any trouble when you showed up in Engineering?"

"Got a couple of icy glares, but Scotty put an end to it really quickly. He called an ad-hoc departmental meeting in the open space outside his office, told everyone what Spock had discovered, made it clear my maintenance work wasn't to blame for what happened."

"How much did he say about the actual cause?"

"It's a need-to-know thing for now, so the bare minimum. Told everyone we had defective components from a bad production run, but that's all."

That seemed fair. Even if there was more to the situation than a failure in fabrication control, it wasn't really the crew's concern. Or his and Catherine's, for that matter. The issue of who in Contracts and Procurement knew what (and when) about the defective components was now a confidential issue for the Captain and Starfleet Command.

"Oh, and you'll be pleased to know, Scotty also reminded everyone about always following established safety procedures," she added. "No more cutting corners, or not wearing our PPE just because we don't like how it feels."

"Good. The PPE issue might've been less of a contributing factor to Daniel's death than the defective components, but as my mom always says, every little bit helps."

"Your mum's a very smart woman."

"She certainly is."

Catherine's mouth twitched. "You obviously don't get your brains from her."

"Is this the thanks I get for all my concern and support?" he asked, pretending to glower at her. "Insults and personal abuse?"

"You started it."

"When?"

"Two minutes ago, when you said I wasn't much of a thinker."

He snickered. "Okay, yeah, fair point."

She stifled an impressive yawn.

"Long day, huh?"

"Feel like I've been on my feet for days. Didn't sleep very well last night, for obvious reasons. Was running on pure adrenaline by the time the review meeting started. Had to go straight from there to dealing with the replacement work."

"Guess that means you haven't had the chance to speak to anyone about what happened."

"None at all. By the time I was done, alpha shift was over. Just wanted to come back here, have a shower and dinner, then hit the sack." She plucked at her shirt, confirming his theory about what she was wearing.

"It doesn't have to be tonight, but you should make the time to speak to Janice," he told her.

"Why's that?"

"Don't ask me to explain. Just trust me when I say that you should. And probably sooner instead of later."

She pulled a frown. "Is it something to do with Luoma?"

"Like I said, I can't explain. But I'm pretty sure she could use a friend to talk to."

"She's not the only one."

"You have friends."

"I know I do." She sighed and waved the comment away. "Ignore me. I'm just feeling a wee bit whiny. Like you said, it's been a rough week."

"Not every day you find yourself on the verge of facing potentially life-altering criminal charges. All things considered, I think you're entitled to feel a little bit whiny."

She fixed her eyes on a point on the floor. "Was the most stressful thing I've ever gone through," she murmured. "Made my Academy fourth year exams feel like a stroll in the park." She raised her head and started to smile, but the smile turned to an ugly sob. She dropped her glass of port on the table, spilling some of it over the side, and turned away, shoulders heaving, one hand going to the wall for support, the other clamped across her mouth.

He stowed his own drink, laid a hand on each of her shoulders and gently turned her around. "Hey, it's okay, you're okay," he murmured, then carefully wrapped his arms around her and held her close while she let it all out. He couldn't help but notice how nice her hair smelled.

Eventually, the sobbing subsided. She pulled away, embarrassed, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You've been through a lot. Nothing to apologize for."

"You say that, but I think I just snottered all over your shirt."

He shrugged slightly. "Won't be the worst bodily fluid it's ever seen."

That got him a laugh.

"You okay?" he asked, ducking to force her to meet his gaze.

She gulped a breath. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Guess I've been holding in a lot more than I thought. Just needed a moment to let it all out."

He cradled her face to wipe a tear away with his thumb. "It's very healthy to let it all out. Crying activates the parasympathetic nervous system, eliminates pent-up tension and stress, restores your body and mind to a state of emotional and physical balance."

She pretended to glare. "I just wanted a hug, you know. I didn't need a medical lecture."

"You get the lecture anyway. Free of charge."

"Lucky me."

"But can I give you another piece of advice?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Depends on what kind of advice it is."

"You feel the need to let it all out again, you might want to stick to doing it in private. You're a great engineer, but like I said before, a _seriously_ ugly crier."

She huffed, punched him playfully in the gut, then held up her hand with her thumb and index finger two centimetres apart. "And to think I was _this_ close to adding you to the official list of people I like."

He grinned, collected their drinks and handed hers over. He paused to sip on his own, then said, "You gonna take my other advice? About talking to Janice, I mean?"

"Probably, yeah. Just not quite sure how to handle it, whether to go to her, or give her the time to come to me."

"Might be better for you to make the first move. She might've decided she should stay out of your way because she's convinced herself you'll be angry with her."

"I _am_ angry with her," she said. In a calmer tone, she added, "I mean, if there's a good reason behind it, I won't blame her for brushing me off the way she did. But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

"Grief makes people say and do a lot of things they don't really mean."

Her eyes went wide. "Is Janice grieving?"

"A little bit, yeah." Not a lie, but he didn't tell her for whom, so not a violation of his promise to Christine, either. He held up a hand, sensing what she was going to ask next. "Don't ask. Just go talk to her, okay?"

"I will, I promise."

"Good girl."

She smiled sadly. "Not like I've never done the same thing myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I said a lot of really horrible things the day my mum died," she explained. "But in my defense, I _was_ fourteen."

He winced inside. That was a bad age to lose a parent. Not that there was really a good age to lose a parent, as he, Jim and Spock could attest. "How'd she die?" he asked.

"Shuttle accident. Faulty fuel containment circuit. Exploded twelve seconds into the flight. Twelve passengers. No survivors." She kept her voice factual and flat, as if she was bringing him up to speed on a developing situation, but her eyes told another story. Even after all this time, she was still grieving for a loved one she'd lost.

Then again, so was he. And not just for his baby girl.

He liked Catherine, and he definitely wanted their date to happen, but he wasn't quite ready to tell her about Joanna yet. But he _was_ willing to share his other personal losses with her. Losses that were older and dimmer, that still caused him emotional pain and sometimes made him think about what might have been, but unlike his daughter's passing, that he could at least bring himself to discuss without having to drink himself into a coma first.

"That's how my sister died, too," he revealed.

He would tell her about his father's terminal illness later.

"Really?"

"In her case, it was a head-on collision with another shuttle, but yeah."

"Older or younger? Your sister, I mean."

"Older. Her name was Rachel." A shiver ran up his spine as he put some dates together. "If she hadn't died, she'd be turning forty next month."

"I had no idea."

He shrugged slightly. "Not the kind of thing that comes up in a regular conversation."

"It isn't, no. You're the only person on the ship I've told about my mum. Scotty knows what happened as well, but that's because he went to school with my older brother."

He'd always wondered what the connection between the Scotts and the McDonalds was…

She frowned slightly.

"What's that frown for?"

"Nothing," she said, waving his question away. "I was just… thinking about something."

"About your mom?"

"No."

"About my sister?"

"Aye. I mean, I don't know. Maybe."

"Go on, then. I don't have all day."

"Leonard, I don't mean to pry, so you're welcome to tell me it's none of my business, but is that why you get so stressed and snarky when you have to travel somewhere by shuttle?" She laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Does being on a shuttle bring up memories of your sister's death?"

His initial instinct was to deflect the question, preferably with a sarcastic remark. But on this particular topic, she deserved better than to be mocked, no matter how lightly. "Probably, yeah. Which is kind of ironic, when you think about it."

"How so?"

"I'm one of the most qualified psychiatrists in the fleet, but I can't fix my own trauma-induced phobia issues."

"At least you can still fix other people," she said. "That's got to be worth something. I can only fix machines."

Her comm unit binged.

No doubt conscious of her pajama-clad and tear-streaked appearance, she reached out to press the voice-only button. "McDonald," she said.

A pause, then, "Catherine, it's Janice."

"Hey, Jan, how you doing?"

A weary sigh. "I'm okay. But  I, uh, I think we really need to talk. I was wondering, are you free right now?"

Leonard downed the rest of his drink. A far more pressing issue was calling—it was time for him to make himself scarce.

"Of course," Catherine said. "I just opened the bottle of port I won last week in that bet. Why don't you come help me drink it?"

Janice breathed a sigh of relief. "That's great. Okay, yeah. Be there in five."

"See you soon."

She punched the switch to end the call.

"Sounds like everything's gonna work out just fine," he said.

Catherine smiled. "I think so, yeah." She followed him as he strolled to the door. "So, um, are we still good for tomorrow night?" she asked, referring to their planned but not-as-yet-abandoned date. "Or did you want to reschedule again?"

"I'm still good if you are." He gestured around the room. "Especially now I can see there's somewhere to sit."

"Okay, great. Um, nineteen hundred okay?"

"Works for me. And this time, I won't be the surgeon on call, so if someone falls and breaks their leg, Geoff and V'Loss can handle them for me."

"So, we shouldn't be interrupted."

"Unless the ship comes under attack, we shouldn't be, no."

On second thoughts, maybe he shouldn't have said that out loud—the universe might be listening in, and he already knew what a terrible sense of humour it had.

They stood at the door, half a metre apart, neither quite sure of what to do next. A handshake, a pat on the back, a friendly hug… or something more?

He remembered Christine's advice—his 'fuck it' reflex kicked in.

He leaned in to kiss her. She jumped slightly, caught off guard, then relaxed against him, kissing back. Her lips were soft and pliant, and she tasted as good as she smelled. "Been thinking about doing this for a while," he murmured into her mouth. "Hope it's not too much of an inconvenience for you."

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him to her again. This time the kiss was deeper and firmer, almost urgent, demanding more. She half-sighed, half-groaned and slid a hand around his neck.

With perfect timing, the doorbell binged.

Reluctantly, she pulled away. "That's probably Janice," she murmured. She set a finger to his lips. "Can you hold that thought, bring it back in twenty-four hours?"

"Not sure I can last that long."

"Leonard, for both our sakes, you better not say that to me again at some point tomorrow."

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why are you such a _terrible_ person?"

"My dad says I was born during a solar eclipse," she offered. "Not sure if that's supposed to be good or bad, but I think it might have something to do with it."

"I've booked a date with goddamn Satan," he muttered. "That's just great."

"At least you know it won't be boring."

"I _like_ boring. Boring doesn't try to kill me."

Another bing.

She smoothed down the front of his shirt, letting her hand linger slightly on his stomach. "Come back at nineteen hundred tomorrow, bring a nice bottle of something alcoholic with you, I'll make us some food, we'll watch that movie, then I'll show you just how terrible I can be."

"When you put it like that, I'm not sure if I should be scared or aroused."

"What about both?"

Leonard shrugged. "Both is good."


End file.
